She was expecting shackles, instruments of pain, and moldy, bloodstained walls. The archaic atmosphere ended at the doorway, however. Inside, a honeycomb of whitewashed tunnels and chambers spread out. They were brightly lit by gas jets and smelled of lye soap. The first man she saw likewise did not meet expectations.
Amaranthe had anticipated towering, monosyllabic guards led by a sadistic, whip-cracking overseer who had not seen the sun in twenty years. Instead, a gray-haired man in crisp black military fatigues greeted her with a smile.
“Ah!” he said cheerfully. “A female. You’re our first. Excellent.”
The pin on the left side of his collar proclaimed him a colonel; the pin on the right bore a needle, the symbol for a surgeon.
A shiver raised the hair along her arms. “First for what?”
“I’ll show you.” The surgeon hummed and tapped his clipboard against his thigh as he led the way down the stark, white corridor. “Come along, come along.”
The guards forced Amaranthe to follow. If her hands had not been bound behind her, she might have tried for one of the swords or pistols hanging from their belts, but she had no hope of reaching them.
Cells lined either side of the corridor, each secured by steel bars and locked gates. Male prisoners occupied most. Some stood and watched her pass, but most lay prone and unresponsive. One had black fingers and toes, symptoms of the advanced stages of frostbite. Another had pox marks all over his skin. Occasionally, medics in military fatigues surrounded the prisoners. One would hold a clipboard and pen while others stabbed and prodded at their victims.
In one cell, a man was stretched facedown on a metal table with a surgeon poking around several inches of exposed vertebrae. He screamed with each prod, and blood flowed from his back. It splashed the floor, ran down a slight slope, and poured into a central drain. Amaranthe experienced the unwelcome insight that someone had angled the floors and placed the drains with exactly that purpose in mind.
Torture, but more methodical than the simple cuts and burns designed to extract information. They were performing medical experiments on these people. She shuddered.
“The emperor might not like the idea of a lady being dissected in his dungeon,” one of the guards holding Amaranthe whispered to the other as they traveled deeper into the tunnels.
“This was his idea,” the other said. “He wanted more money to go into medical research, right?”
“He has no idea what’s going on down here, and I’m sure this isn’t the kind of research he meant.”
“That’s ‘cause he’s soft, and you are too if you listen to him. Hollowcrest is smart to keep his thumb on the boy. The Nurians would be mauling us if they had any idea how weak-minded our supposed emperor is.”
Amaranthe wondered how many men in the Imperial Barracks were loyal to Sespian and how many to Hollowcrest. If these two were representative of the whole, Hollowcrest’s supporters were more vocal.
The surgeon turned into a large room with four occupied cots against the back wall. A counter with upper and lower cabinets stood along one side and a coal stove along the other. No fire burned in it, and the room was cold. The men on the cots were inert, flushed faces and wheezing breaths the only indications of life. A bumpy red rash covered their skin.
The surgeon paused by a cot. “Ah, good. This one’s dead. Take him to my examination room. A few more dissections and we ought to make some headway.” He rapped his knuckles on his clipboard. “It’s not right that those magic-throwing Kendorian shamans can cure this while sound imperial medicine lags behind.”
The guard who had spoken up for Sespian left Amaranthe to obey the surgeon’s orders. He touched her shoulder briefly, eyes sad, before he dragged the corpse away. The pity unnerved her more than the callous attitudes of the others.
“Magic-throwing shamans?” Amaranthe asked. The empire’s stance was that magic did not exist. Of course, the empire also forbade its use, so one tended to wonder about the truth of the first statement. Either way, she had never seen any evidence of magic in her life.
“Yes, their healers sacrifice chickens, wave their hands, and cure the disease.” The surgeon sniffed disdainfully. “Fear not. Your sacrifice will help us find a legitimate cure and distribute it to our troops along the southern border.”
“Oh, good.” Amaranthe swallowed. “What is the disease?”
“Hysintunga.”
“And it’s always deadly?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How long does it take to ah…” She nodded in the direction the corpse had been taken.
The surgeon unlocked a cabinet and rummaged inside. “Three to four days from infection to death, at least based on the cases we’ve had so far. Perhaps it’ll be faster for you, since you’re smaller than the men.”
A locomotive trip to Kendor took over a week. I’m dead if I let them infect me.
She flexed her shoulders and tried to work her wrists free of the manacles. The remaining guard clamped his hand tighter around her biceps and gave her a warning frown. The hilt of his sword dug into her side. If she could somehow get his weapon, maybe she could hold it to the surgeon’s throat and bargain her way free. She would need her hands free first.
“I don’t suppose you’d-” she started, but a shadow fell across the doorway.
Hollowcrest entered the room, and four guards came in on his heels.
Amaranthe slumped.
He regarded her coolly, hefting his right arm. A bandage wrapped it from wrist to elbow.
“You are a tedious pain, woman. In more ways than one.”
“You attacked me,” she said, seeing no reason to bother with honorifics at this point. “After you sent me on a suicide mission. I’m the one who’s a pain?”
He snorted. “Don’t put this on me, girl. It seemed a shame to waste a bright enforcer; it’s not like they’re a common breed. Your ambition is what made you dangerous. I couldn’t let you at the emperor.”
A shame? Vanquished ancestors, was he actually regretting what he had done? Did he feel guilty? Or was she imagining it? Maybe he had just come down to gloat. It didn’t seem that he had noticed the missing note yet, though she was not sure how that helped. She could not read it with her hands behind her back.
The surgeon removed a jar from a cabinet, one of several on a shelf. A large, winged insect buzzed inside, its droning ominous. Amaranthe made herself focus on Hollowcrest. As long as he was talking, she had to learn as much as she could in case she had the opportunity to do something with that information later.
“Does the emperor know you’ve got me locked up down here?”
“Unfortunately, he is mourning your tragic death,” Hollowcrest said. “Killed falling out the window. You should be pleased; Sespian appeared quite distraught by the news.”
“What are you doing to him anyway? What does the drug you’re putting in his tea do?”
Amaranthe glanced at the surgeon and the guards, hoping the news would come as a surprise to them. If she could trick Hollowcrest into answering in the affirmative, maybe it would shock them, coerce them to do something to defend the rightful leader of the empire.
“It’s a herb that dulls the intellect and renders the drinker susceptible to manipulation,” Hollowcrest said calmly.
No one in the room reacted. They know. They all know and they don’t care.
“Why?” Amaranthe asked. “When you were sworn to act as his regent, you made a promise to him and the empire that you would step down when he reached his majority. That was last year.”
“Do you think I wanted to break my word? I’m no power-hungry tyrant. I have always been content to advise. But the boy would destroy the empire.” He cleaned his eyeglasses with a handkerchief. “In his first week on the throne, he vowed to make peace with all the nations we’ve ever warred with, cut military spending in half, funnel the money to education, and…oh, yes, and phase out the empire itself, instating some ridiculous people’s republic with elected officials.”
“They sound like noble goals.”
“You’re as naive and idealistic as he is. Yes, let us announce to all the nations we’ve conquered over the last seven hundred years that now we wish for peace. I’m sure they’ll embrace us with heartfelt brotherhood and forget about all the men slain, the land taken, the freedoms stolen, the laws imposed. Please. They would send diplomats on the one hand and secretly build their armies for revenge on the other. And dissolving the empire? Since religion fell out of fashion, faith in Turgonia is the only thing that gives our people a sense of meaning. The empire is not
